


Ten of Cups

by JhanaMay



Series: Arcana [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-30 23:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21436141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay
Summary: Dean would protect Sam from every bad thing in the world if he could, but he can't. All he can do is be there to help Sam pick up the pieces.Set after Heart (2x17)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Arcana [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551187
Comments: 7
Kudos: 72





	Ten of Cups

The Impala’s wheels crunch over gravel as Dean pulls the car to a stop in front of the ratty motel. Some days, it’s hard to even remember what state they’re in, let alone what they’re supposed to be hunting. Ever since San Francisco, they’ve been going non-stop with barely a chance to breathe in between cases. Wendigos and ghosts, demons and shapeshifters. It’s been a crazy few weeks.

Sam hasn’t been himself. Quiet and withdrawn, he’s thrown himself into research. There haven’t been any more visions or moving shit with his mind, but he’s still not right. It’s like the weeks after Jess died all over again. Dean is worried, but no matter how hard he tries, Sam won’t talk about Madison or what he had to do.

So, they hunt. Dean keeps a close eye on him, but there isn’t much else he can do.

“One delicious burger with all the fixings and something called an Oriental Salad,” Dean calls as he pushes through the door. “Whatever the hell that is.” Sam is exactly where Dean left him, propped up with his laptop and papers spread out around him on the far bed. Dean has been taking the bed closest to the door since they were kids, and it’s a habit he’s not going to break now.

Sam rolls his eyes but doesn’t look up from his laptop. “Put it on the table,” he mutters, flipping a page in the book propped up beside him, then scribbling something in the notebook.

“Come eat. Your salad’s gonna get—what do salads get? Warm? Cold? Even more disgusting than they already are? Whatever trail you’re on, it’ll still be there when you’re done eating.” They haven’t had a case in thirty-six hours, and Dean plans to enjoy every moment of the downtime. “Put a pin in it and get over here.”

“I think I found a case,” Sam says, his floppy curls falling over his forehead. He eyes the salad container Dean put on the table but makes no move to retrieve it.

Dean unwraps the burger and sets it out on the paper wrapper before opening a beer. “I have no doubt you did. There’s always a case. These days, we’d have to have our heads up our asses to not find a case.”

“Elderly man found with the top of his head cut off. Tell me that doesn’t sound like our kind of thing?”

“It’s not nothing.”

Sam nods and flips the paper over to write something on the back. He types into the laptop and clicks a few times before he looks up again. “It’s about six hours. If we leave now—”

“If we leave now, we’ll drive a few hours and get another room, or end up sleeping in the car tonight. Come on, man. We’ve got dinner and a roof. Dead isn’t gonna get any more or less dead between now and tomorrow. We’ll get a solid six and be on the road in the morning.” He dumps his fries on the wrapper with a glob of ketchup from a half-dozen little packets.

“Fine,” Sam relents, though Dean can tell he wants to argue. Sam’s sudden obsession with hunting constantly is a little worrisome. Shit has just gotten piled on top of shit. Their last run-in with Meg really got to Sam. Hell, it got to Dean too—as if he didn’t worry about Sam enough—but killing Madison has made things a hundred times worse.

Dean catalogs every detail as Sam climbs off the bed and walks to the table. His hair is getting longer, the waves curling around his ears, and he still seems a little stiff from getting knocked around by the spirit they took out the day before yesterday. Dean tries to remember the last time Sam smiled and he can’t.

“We should go out,” Dean says as Sam settles across from him at the little table. “Hit one of the local bars and blow off some steam before we jump right into another case.”

Sam pokes at his salad with a plastic fork. “You can go ahead. I want to do some research into the town. See if we can get a jump on whatever might be happening there.”

“You’re gonna waste away from lack of fun.” Dean takes a bite of his burger to hide both his worry and his irritation.

“That’s not a thing.”

“Sure, it is, Sammy. We’ve been doing nothing but work, work, work for weeks. It wouldn’t hurt to let your hair down a little. Shake off the melancholy. I know what happened with—”

“Don’t.” Sam points his fork at Dean, his mouth set into a grim line. “Just don’t.”

“Sam.”

“I mean it, Dean. We’re not talking about it.”

Dean rolls his eyes but drops it. They finish their meal in silence, Sam barely picking at his salad. He goes right back to his bed and opens his laptop as soon as the garbage is cleared from the table. Dean watches him for a moment before he makes up his mind.

Getting Sam out of this funk is going to take drastic measures. It’s been a while—with everything going on, there just never seems to be a good time—despite the way Dean thinks about it constantly. Watching Sam, just thinking about it, makes Dean’s cock swell. Same as it always does.

With a clear plan, Dean walks over to his own bed. He pulls the little bottle of lube out of his duffle and tucks it into his pocket before he toes off his boots. After shrugging out of his overshirt, he puts his gun and phone on the nightstand between the beds.

“I thought you were going out,” Sam asks, eyeing him warily. The laptop propped on his legs lists to the side and he grabs it before it topples.

Dean shrugs. “If you’re gonna get me up at the ass crack of dawn, I need to get some shuteye.” Sam turns back to his notebook as Dean gets settled, but he keeps glancing at Dean out of the corner of his eye.

Closing his eyes, Dean relaxes against the headboard and thinks about the last time he and Sam were together. Before Meg, before the shit with the shapeshifter; it had been right after the inn with the creepy dolls. Sam had been upset and drunk while they were there, convinced he was dangerous and evil, but there was nothing Dean could do at the time. Afterward, though. Afterward, he’d done everything he could to take Sam’s mind off it. The same thing he could do now.

This thing with Sam, the way their relationship has changed, still feels new, though it’s been going on for over a year. When his defenses are up, Sam pushes him away, brushes him off, but tonight? Tonight, this is exactly what Sam needs.

Eyes still closed, Dean shifts on the bed to get more comfortable and lets his knees fall open. The last time, it had been Sam who started it. Still angry and hurting from everything that went down with Gordon, it hadn’t been hard to goad Sam into a fight. Dean’s lips tingle from the memory of that angry kiss when Sam had shoved him against the wall. Angry Sam was easier to handle than this sad, withdrawn one, though. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Running through his memories of that night, Dean brings one hand up to rest on his crotch. Pushing down slightly so he doesn’t attract Sam’s attention—yet—Dean focuses on the way his cock swells and throbs against the inside of his jeans. Canting his hips, he pushes up, teasing with his fingers until he’s fully hard.

He cracks one eye to look at Sam, but he’s staring at the computer screen. Fingers still stroking, Dean slides the other hand up under his t-shirt. The feather-light drag over his stomach and up his ribs draws out a shiver, and when the pads of his fingers brush his nipple, he swallows a groan.

Fuck. He can’t wait until those are Sam’s fingers squeezing the hardening nub. It wouldn’t end there. Sam would replace his fingers with his mouth, gently nipping with his teeth because he knows the pain drives Dean wild.

Desperate for more sensation, Dean flicks the button on his jeans open and pushes his hand inside his briefs. He almost sobs at the dry rasp of his fingers across the sensitive skin of his stiff cock. He teases the head, sliding the tips of his fingers through the moisture gathering there and pinches his nipple again. This time, he lets the groan escape.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is strangled and a little breathless.

Without opening his eyes or stopping the exquisite torture, Dean breathes a husky sigh and murmurs, “Yeah?”

“What are you doing?”

Dean cracks a tiny smile before smothering it. “Can’t fall asleep so I figured I’d take the edge off.”

There’s a long pause where all Dean can hear is the traffic on the street and Sam’s harsh breathing, then, “I’m sitting right here.”

“So?”

“Dean, this isn’t a good idea.”

In response, Dean pushes his jeans open farther, shifting them down his thighs to tug his cock out. The air in the motel room is chilly, but he can wrap his hand the whole way around now. He strokes a few times and opens his eyes to take in Sam’s flushed face.

“I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in weeks.” He drags his hand up and down his shaft, tighter at the bottom then loose with a twist at the top that drags his thumb right over the sensitive spot right under the head.

Sam’s wide eyes follow Dean’s hand and his throat bobs as he swallows hard. After a moment, he raises his gaze back to Dean’s face. “We shouldn’t.”

Twisting his nipple, Dean squeezes a little harder on the next stroke and the pleasure pools in his balls. “Why not?”

“You know why not.”

Dean doesn’t rise to that bait. They’ve been over this a dozen times. Dean’s far past caring what the rest of the world thinks. 

In response, Dean lets go of his dick to shove his jeans and briefs down. He takes a few moments to pull them off his legs and tugs his t-shirt over his head. Naked, he lays back against the pillows, closes his eyes, and resumes the teasing touches. He circles his cock with his fingers and strokes faster now, harder, pushing his hips up to thrust into his fist.

When Dean spreads his legs to give himself room to reach down and tug the sensitive skin of his balls, Sam bites off a strangled curse. “Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

Another pause, then the sound of the bedsprings creaking as Sam moves. “I want to suck you.”

Dean doesn’t even try to control his smile of victory. He looks up at Sam from under hooded lids and licks his lips. “Who’s stopping you?”

Sam reaches back to pull his t-shirt over his head and Dean’s hungry eyes scan his muscled chest. Still wearing his jeans, Sam arranges himself partway down the bed so he can lean over and lick a stripe up the inside of Dean’s thigh. He nips playfully at the thin skin a few times before lifting his head to circle the head of Dean’s cock with his lips.

The wet heat feels just as good as Dean remembers. Sam shifts a little for a better angle and Dean shudders through a moan when he takes Dean in the whole way, the head of his cock hitting the back of Sam’s throat. Dean twists his fingers into Sam’s hair and guides him up and down, holding for several seconds when he bottoms out before he lets Sam pull away.

“Fuck. It’s been a while, Sam. I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that.”

Sam looks up at him, cheeks flushed and lips shiny with saliva, and it takes everything Dean has to not shove him back down on his dick. “A while?” Sam says, eyes searching Dean’s face. “I thought you and Ash—”

Dean chuckles. “You thought I was fucking Ash?”

“You haven’t been?”

The surprised wistfulness in Sam’s voice tugs at Dean’s heart. He trails his fingers down and cups Sam’s cheek. “No. He made it clear he’d be up for it, but I wasn’t interested.”

Because of Sam, but Dean leaves that part unsaid. Sam made it clear from the beginning that this wasn’t meant to get in the way of other relationships. There have been women—there are always women—but Dean hasn’t been with another guy since the first time with Sam.

“That’s—yeah, okay,” Sam says, his voice huskier than it was a moment ago. He leans into Dean’s hand and closes his eyes. When he opens them, they’re bright and a little glassy. “I want you inside me.”

Dean’s heart clenches the same time his dick pulses. He wants that more than he wants his next breath, but not if Sam’s not a hundred percent into it. “If you’re not—this is good, Sam. We can just do this.”

Sam shifts so he’s laying across Dean’s chest and presses his check over Dean’s heart. “I’ve been so cold inside since Madison. I couldn’t save her and I just—I need to feel something.” He turns his head to press a kiss over Dean’s sternum. “Please, make me feel something.”

Dean’s breath catches. “Yeah, Sammy,” he rasps, heart breaking for every bad thing he can’t protect Sam from. “It’s okay. I got you.”

It only takes a few moments for them to change positions. Sam strips off the rest of his clothes while Dean retrieves the lube from his pocket. His mouth goes dry when he turns to see Sam spread out on the bed, over six feet of muscles and perfect, golden skin. “How do you want this?”

Sam eyes him greedily. “Can I ride you?”

“You can do whatever you want.” He tosses Sam the lube and climbs onto the bed next to him.

Opening the bottle, Sam coats his own fingers and reaches behind himself. Dean wishes Sam would let him do that, but it isn’t a hill worth dying on. The lube bottle is cold, and Dean warms the liquid in his palm before spreading it over his cock. He’d gone a little soft with all the waiting, but he perks right back up with a few strokes.

Sam wipes his hand on the bedspread before pressing his palm to the center of Dean’s chest to push him backward. When Sam straddles him, knees wide on either side of Dean’s hips, Dean props himself up on his elbows to lean forward and press a kiss to Sam’s jaw. Sam turns and captures Dean’s lips, immediately opening his mouth to turn the kiss from sweet to filthy. He reaches between them as he ravages Dean and angles Dean’s cock to catch again his rim.

In one smooth motion, Sam bears down, pushing the head of Dean’s cock past the tight muscle. Dean’s eyes roll back in his head. Sam’s body is so tight and hot and utterly perfect, and Dean is struck again by a wild burst of possessiveness. Sam has never been with anyone else like this, has never opened his body for anyone other than Dean. Only Dean.

Sam’s breath stutters and Dean’s hands close over his hips. He stops, Dean only halfway in, and takes a few sharp breaths. “Fuck,” Sam grunts. “That’s—it’s so fucking full.”

“If you need to stop—” Dean’s dick might fall off if Sam stops, but that’s what they’ll do if that’s what Sam wants

“No. Just give me a second. It’s been like six months.”

That’s true. They don’t do this often to begin with, but the last few times, it had been Dean running the show. And when Dean is in charge, he likes to get fucked.

Sam takes a few deep, steady breaths while Dean runs his hands up and down his thighs, over his hips and as far up his back as he can reach. Finally, Sam’s body stops trembling, and he shifts, pushing down until Dean is buried the entire way in his body. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Dean’s mouth, his hazel eyes glistening with emotion. “Hi,” he says, and his body clenches around Dean’s dick.

“Hi,” Dean returns in a strangled voice. “You okay?”

Rising a little and then lowering himself back down a few times, Sam nods. “Yes,” he murmurs against Dean’s lips. “You feel so good.”

“You’re driving, Sammy. Take what you want.”

Sam doesn’t need to be told twice. After a moment to settle into the rhythm, Dean lays back and lets Sam take over. He’s gorgeous in the watery light. Each long, slow arc of his body draws a moan from Dean as he moves with intense purpose. Sam’s hands roam over Dean’s chest, fingers teasing first one nipple then the other until Dean bats him away and rises back up on his elbows to latch his lips over one of Sam’s nipples.

A long, deep groan vibrates in Sam’s throat and his pace quickens. Dean falls away and cants his hips to thrust up as Sam is coming down, and the pressure makes stars dance behind Dean’s eyes. He was already close before Sam took over, and there’s no way he’s going to last much longer.

When Dean reaches for Sam’s cock, Sam throws his head back. The long column of his throat glistens with sweat. “Fuck, come on, Sam. I’m so close. Feels so fucking good.” He matches his strokes to the rise and fall of Sam’s body and Sam shudders.

“Go ahead, Dean. I want to feel you.” Sam clenches as he bears down and between the pressure and Sam’s encouragement, Dean is lost.

Pleasure barrels through him as his balls draw up tight. White hot and burning away everything in its path, it rushes out from his core and leaves his fingers and toes tingling. Sam rides him through it, his pupils blown wide, and Dean pulses inside him. He gives Sam everything he is, the way he always has.

Dean is still shivering through the aftershocks when Sam’s body clenches around him again. He opens his eyes to watch Sam jerk himself with rough, uneven strokes even as he continues to move on top of Dean. “Dean, I’m gonna—oh, fuck.” The words seem to be forced up from deep inside, devolving into a long string of filthy curses and promises and what sounds a little like prayers.

“I got you, Sammy. Let go,” Dean says, and one hand on the back of Sam’s neck pulls him down for a kiss that has every ounce of what Dean feels for him in it. Sam’s entire body shudders and then he’s coming, painting Dean’s chest in hot, wet stripes. Dean kisses him over and over until Sam pulls away, his eyes glazed over and the drowsy smile Dean hasn’t seen in weeks on his lips.

Spent, Sam collapses against him. Dean goes with it for a few minutes, wrapping his arms around Sam’s back and squeezing tight. His cock softens slowly and slips from Sam’s body, and Dean holds him tighter when Sam flinches.

After a while, though, the drying mess on his stomach and the need to breathe win out. “You weigh a metric ton,” he mutters, poking a finger into Sam’s side. “Get up before you crush me.”

Sam chuckles as he rolls over, and the sound is like a balm for Dean’s heart. He extricates himself from under Sam and slips into the bathroom to clean up. Sam murmurs a sleepy thank-you when Dean brings him back a wet washcloth.

Rather than separate to their own beds like they usually would, Sam stays where he is when Dean crawls back into the bed. When Dean raises his arm, he doesn’t seem to think twice about curling into Dean’s side, his head resting over Dean’s heart again. Dean wraps his arms around him, keeping him in the one place he knows Sam will always be safe.

Sam sighs when Dean cards his hand through his hair, pushing the sweat-soaked strands away from his forehead. “I couldn’t save her,” Sam whispers, and Dean’s hand pauses for only a moment.

“I know.”

“It’s not fair.” Sam’s voice shatters on the last word.

“It isn’t, Sam. Not one goddamn thing in this fucked up world is fair.” Dean tips Sam’s head up to kiss his forehead. “I wish we could save everyone, but we can’t. But we keep fighting because that’s what we do. You’ll keep putting your heart on the line, because that’s who you are, and I’ll always be here to put you back together—”

“Because that’s who you are?”

“Damn right, Sammy. Damn right.”


End file.
